


The Blackened Mask

by ChecktheHolonet



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, First Time, Forbidden Love, Puritan AU, Rewritten Reylo, Reylo - Freeform, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:57:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChecktheHolonet/pseuds/ChecktheHolonet
Summary: “Have you come to torture me again, my sweet shadow?”he whispered, his breath casting soft clouds in the moonlight.“Torture?”she echoed.“You speak as though you writhe with pain. Love should not hurt, Kylo.”“You know not the depths of my agony.”





	1. September 1692

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Rewritten Reylo  
> (Very) loosely inspired by Nathaniel Hawthorne's _The Scarlet Letter_
> 
> with thanks to @reylorobyn2011 and @shadowlass

**“The man whose heart is endeared to the woman he loves, he dreams of her in the night, hath her in his eye an apprehension when he awakes, museth on her as he sits at table, walks with her when he travels, and parlies with her in each place where he comes ... She lies in his bosom, and his heart trusts in her, which forceth all to confess, that the stream of his affection, like a mighty current, runs with full tide and strength.” —Thomas Hooker**

* * *

 

_**September 1692** _

“It won’t be long now.”

Along the treeline, a crowd had gathered. Men and women alike, somber in face and stern in bearing, stood shivering in front of the aging prison house. Fall had come early to the First Order settlement of Skywalker, Massachusetts. A brutal wind whipped off the bay and stole under the heavy, unadorned cloaks worn by the pious townspeople.

Anxiously they waited, clustered in pods as they gossiped amongst themselves. Surely a sin in ordinary times, they overlooked the infraction on this, the sentencing day of Kylo Ren, in favor of sharing whatever lascivious scraps of information they’d gathered.

_“They say it’s hideous, that it weighs nearly a full stone and obscures all but the slimmest fraction of light.”_

_“I’ve heard it’s spiked; that it will burn his face surely as a brand.”_

_“Serves him right, for what he did–”_

_“–but can he speak? It’s no use if that forked tongue should still be permitted to slither and flick!”_

_“What use are words when his actions were far more deplorable! To neglect his wife to her own ruin! To torment and torture her with loss of affection until she chose to end her own life!”_

They grew in number, this chorus of voices, a pestilence rising and spreading like fog until it grew nearly loud enough to drown out the Governor’s sonorous voice as he ascended to the front of the gathering.

A sweeping hush fell over the assembled crowd, the tittering murmurs eclipsed as nearly 70 heads turned at once toward a single, guarded door.

Ornate in design and sturdy in construction, it barred the audience from the chamber’s hidden occupants, heavy iron-clad windows obscuring its contents from sight.

“Citizens of the Order!” Governor Hux boomed. His red hair gleamed like poured copper, molten metal that threatened to scald. A tall man of alabaster complexion, he held himself with the carriage of one used to his own importance. Newly appointed to his post, it was a right he had not yet earned.

“Silence, all of you!” he commanded.

The crowd obeyed as they pressed forward, carrion birds drawn to blood’s scent as they bobbed for a glimpse behind the door. For days, Kylo Ren had remained confined within the prison walls. Bereft of visitors, his only human contact came in the form of armored guards who delivered him bland meals thrice daily.

His trial had been swift and perfunctory. It was said that his wife, Lady Beatrice Netal, had suffered without the benefit of his companionship for nearly eight months before she was driven mad with longing. They found her broken body in the thick of the forest, her feet dangling three feet from the ground, a silver noose wrapped around her neck. A rag doll, broken and discarded; a marionette with severed strings.

 _Killed herself,_ the gossips whispered, _for what else could come from a woman whose husband refused to provide her a babe, whose touch he withheld until her maidenly flower shriveled, faded and died?_

 _He’s a witch,_ they whispered. _For what other reason remains to deny that strapping chest, that broadened back, to the willing touch of a faithful wife?_

And yet, such accusations could not be proven. No marks were found along Ren’s body beyond a shower of moles and freckles. No fork split his tongue; no stain of a wayward lover lingered on his sensuous lips. Every week, he’d attend church faithfully, his raven hair spilling over his forehead as his mouth moved in silent prayer. It was only when Lady Netal’s sister, Bazine, came forth and decried her sister’s shame that Ren was brought to trial.

 _“Do you deny it, Kylo Ren?”_ Percival Snoke roared in open court, standing before the gallery of jurors. _“That you refused company, affection, and physical comfort to your good and faithful wife? That you rejected her offers of love and communion and then compelled her to end her own life, sentencing her soul to an eternity of damnation? DO YOU DENY IT?”_

Ren stared at the old man, chin jutted upward in defiance. He spoke in a clear, compelling voice: _“I did not love her. I do not now.”_

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.

_“Her death is on her own hands. We entered our marriage two willing partners each seeking equal and personal gains. I honored my end of the bargain.”_

They convicted him unanimously, a sentence to be carried out in public on the first day of the ninth month of the year.

That day had arrived with stunning alacrity.

Nearby, in the town square, the iron clock high in the tower chimed precisely noon.

Governor Hux smiled; a cruel, malicious grin full of sharp teeth. “Bring forth the prisoner!” he ordered.

The door swung open as the crowd gasped. Against the shadows in the darkened room, a silhouette formed in the ether.

The prisoner was tall, nearly breaching the prison’s stone archway. At his sides, his hands clenched in fists, thick fingers encased in heavy leather gloves. He wore a cloak black as night and rough as burlap, exposing not an inch of skin below the curve of his jaw. The cloak’s hood was drawn back, revealing a striking, distinctive face. With an executioner’s bearing, doom’s very breath emanated from his presence.

“Demon!” came a cry from the crowd. Whispers of assent echoed. In the weeks since his trial, rumors of Ren’s affiliation for the dark and wicked arts had only grown. He had not denied refusing his marital duties. He’d alluded to the transactional nature of what should have been a holy union. How farfetched, then, would it truly be for him to belong to a coven of witches, each cavorting in hedonistic glee in the moonlight?

Ren stilled, inclining his head toward the voice. Lush, generous lips pursed tightly, making his wide mouth seem almost cruel. Somber, intense eyes trailed to where the sound emanated.

He spoke a single word: “Indeed?”

“Silence!” Hux roared. “For you, Kylo Ren, shall never again subject this innocent flock to the vitriol of your silvered tongue!”

A laconic smile bloomed across Ren’s lips.

“How different our definitions of innocence, Governor Hux. Had you an ounce of bravery in your spindly body you’d simply strike me down here and now.”

Hux seethed, a mottled flush cresting over his pale face, “I beg your–”

“–instead,” Ren continued, “you trifle yourself with fretting over the condition of my tongue.”

The crowd murmured, scandalized.

“Cut out that tongue and be done with it!” a member of the crowd crowed to a chorus of delighted laughter.

Hux drew a sharp, furious breath and held his hands above his head, fingers spread wide. The noise ceased; a puff of air on a dangerous flame.

“He’d deserve no less,” he said. “And yet, my children, our burden and duty is not to commit his same crime.”

“–a crime that bore no evidence,” Ren replied, serene. “Or have you forgotten?”

A vein bulged in Hux’s temple as a single bead of sweat trailed to his jaw.

“Without a witness, Kylo Ren, we cannot convict you for her death. As it stands, the just and true testimony of Lady Bazine Netal is reason enough to forsake you from another’s touch.”

Ren shrugged. “Pity.” A beat later, he gave Hux a lazy smirk. “Shall we get on with it?”

Hux bristled. With a sweep of his finely-manicured fingers, he addressed the town guards: “bring forth the mask!”

They approached in pairs; boots striking the ground in unison, four men of relatively high rank, dressed simply in grey trousers and triangular black hats. Only the gleaming gold insignia on their otherwise plain lapels identified them as any men of importance.

Standing before Hux in perfect formation, they carried a heavy wooden box the size of a small dog. Square and adorned with the First Order’s seal, it was secured with an ornate padlock which opened for a single key. Triumphantly, Hux withdrew it from his pocket.

Brandishing it high above his head for all the crowd to see, he addressed the crowd with gusto.

“Good citizens, it is with utmost regret and pity that I levy this, our most grievous punishment, upon Brother Kylo Ren. A vicious sentence, to be sure, but one assigned after hours of quiet contemplation and solemn reflection.”

Turning to the prisoner, he pointed a bony finger to his broad chest, a twig assaulting a brick wall.

“Kylo Ren,” he began, “for the suspected death of the Lady Beatrice Netal, a most tragic mystery which remains unsolved, and for the supposition of witchcraft, which puts our beloved flock at risk, I condemn you to the Blackened Mask! Kneel, Ren, and receive your punishment!”

A raven’s cry pierced the air as the onlookers drew anxious breaths. The Governor and the prisoner stared at one another. Tree branches creaked as the wind shrieked and moaned, rustling Ren’s cloak like charcoal wings. Ominous grey clouds, bloated and heavy with moisture, cast lengthy shadows over the crowd. Again, Hux ordered, “Kneel!”

Ren’s eyes, steadfast and grave, did not falter. “I will not.”

Thunder rolled as the first droplets of rain fell, soon turning to frigid pellets of ice as they met the air’s chill. “Take him!” Hux screamed at the guards, arms flailing. His ruddy, splotched face darkened to the raspberry shade of a newly-born babe.

The youngest guard approached with malice in his eyes but Ren remained unmoved.

Flustered and furious, Hux jammed the key in the locked box and gave it a quarter-turn. Tumblers clicked into place and the lid released, revealing the mask. He withdrew it with a single rough motion just as the guard’s staff connected with Ren’s spine. Ren’s moan of pain echoed over the enrapt crowd.

“Look your last with your natural eyes upon God’s righteous beauty,” Hux sneered, “for you’ll never again reveal your face to the common man.” Thin shards of ice clung to his pale lashes, his lips pale-blue, almost translucent.

“Hide me if you must,” Ren answered, “but I shall not disappear.”

The guards descended, dragging Ren to his knees as Hux stepped forward with the mask. Ren’s face revealed nothing, even as the dreaded apparatus was lowered onto his head.

A malevolent smile curved Hux’s lips as he fixed the mask in place. “You should’ve cooperated when you had the chance,” he whispered, too low for the crowd to hear. “May you rot in this onerous prison.”

To the crowd, he turned, splaying his hands wide. “Look upon him, all of you! Witness the shame of Kylo Ren!”

A roar rose from the crowd as they dragged Ren to his feet. Women hid their children’s eyes and men crowed in delight at the hideous contraption. Through the pelting ice, they beheld the gruesome mask; gobbling the spectacle, the carmine taste of terror.

It was worse than they ever imagined.

Some said it had been enchanted, sold by a demon to the earliest settlers in their tiny village. Others swore it was a war relic, stolen from a violent general in the far east who doomed his lands to ruin.

Ebony black with a silver-trimmed slit where the eyes ought to be, the mask evoked horror from all who gazed upon it. It was as if the devil himself had crafted this costume, so striking and sinister a picture it made. Dark, foreboding, with a strange mouthpiece that distorted the wearer’s voice, it eliminated all fragments of light, dooming the bearer to stumble in near-darkness for all of his days. To never again gaze upon another’s loving face, save through the thinnest window of light.

“To the square!” cried Hux, as the guards began to drag Ren away, “let no one fail to witness this man’s torment!”

As the crowd began to migrate with gaiety befitting a summer parade, a somber young woman watched with sadness in her eyes. Shivering, she huddled down in her cloak. Her gloved hands curled around the handle of a wicker basket.

As though he could feel her gaze upon him, Kylo Ren wrenched backward in the guard's grip.

When he turned, she was gone.


	2. October 1692

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As she leaned forward, Kylo swayed. His mouth came dangerously close to hers, close enough to share breath. Close enough to feel warmth. Rey focused on the plump, rosy crest of his lips; the hazy, drunken glaze to his eyes._
> 
> _“Still here, my sweet shadow?” he murmured, words slurred, soft. Drowsy. Languid. “Would you follow me to dreams, if I asked?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys. Thank you so much for your enthusiastic response to the first chapter! I've completed this work and intend to update it weekly on Sundays until fully posted. Here, in chapter 2, is where we diverge from Hawthorne's themes and focus more fully on the relationship between Kylo Ren and Rey. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter; thanks, as always, for reading!

_**October 1692** _

“Good morrow to you, Miss Rey,” the corpulent man at the counter leered, looking down the tip of his bulbous nose as he appraised Rey’s proffered basket. Steepling his fingers, he picked through her offering, disdain splashed across his pockmarked face. “What you’ve brought me is worth…” he hummed, plucking at his chin, “one-quarter portion.” He reached behind his counter and produced a small bag of flour and three eggs. Not nearly enough to last the week, let alone the upcoming winter.

“It was worth a half-dozen eggs last week, Mr. Plutt, and salt-pork as well,” Rey said, her voice steady through carefully-contained fury. “I brought nearly three days of wood, and a pitcher of milk–”

“–your cow,” Plutt interrupted, “could be worth sixty pounds of flour, enough for the winter and then some.”

“Beebee is not for sale,” she said through gritted teeth. “Furthermore, he is not mine to offer. Mr. Dameron shall return in the spring.”

Plutt barked a hearty laugh, spittle dripping from the edges of his mouth as his enormous form sagged forward. “Ah yes, noble Mr. Dameron, set sail twelve months ago and yet no one has heard of his whereabouts. Silly girl. What makes you so sure he lives? Awfully fierce winds this time of year, and a brutal sea to boot. Why don’t you cut your losses and–”

Plutt stopped mid-sentence, florid face gone suddenly pale. A shadow passed across the counter, blocking out the light. Rey’s skin tingled, as though she could feel eyes upon her.

Whirling around, she stared at the gleaming black mask of Kylo Ren.

“Plutt,” came his voice, eerily distorted, low and dangerous. “I trust you have my provisions.”

Plutt grimaced, puffy hands shuffling below the counter to produce a wooden box. “Brother Ren,” he stammered. “I thought you weren’t to visit town. Surely Governor Hux…”

“Governor Hux is none of your concern,” Ren snarled. “And the conditions of my ‘visits’ remain as ever: never accompanied, face unexposed. You’ll see I’ve complied, or would you care to inspect more closely?”

Plutt recoiled, shaking his head, and shoved the box toward Ren’s outstretched hands. “No, Brother Ren. Go about your business. We want no trouble here. And you,” he barked to Rey, “take your portion and leave. Be resourceful next time or you’ll soon find yourself starved!”

Rey bit her lip, forcing back tears at the meager helping of flour and eggs. She cradled the box to her chest, drawing a shuddering breath, when she noticed that Ren had not moved an inch.

“What do you want?” she said, daring a look into his grim visage. Ren returned her gaze, the blank void of his mask emotionless, vacant.

“Apologies, my lady,” he murmured, “I did not mean to interrupt your transaction.”

That voice, smooth and deep, sent a shudder of unease through her. It could almost be called kind, if it wasn’t so chilling. She looked away, shivering as fingers of wind crept up her legs, teased at her face.

“No matter,” she said, “we had concluded our business. Though it appears I shall have to scavenge for scraps once more if I ever expect to stay fed through the winter.”

Ren cocked his head to the right, appraising, so still and silent that Rey couldn’t be sure he’d heard her. She began to walk away when his voice came again, curious this time.

“Your cow. Does she produce milk?”

Rey smothered an unexpected laugh. “Yes. She is, after all, a cow.”

“Would you consider a barter with me?”

Rey froze, considering. As she deliberated, he stood expectantly, hands clasped behind his back. At his feet, a veritable treasure trove of provisions waited. Flour. Eggs. Salt-pork. Lard. Everything, it appeared, but milk.

Her eyes narrowed. “What sort of trade?” she asked.

“I would offer you–”

“REN!”

Hux’s voice boomed from the end of Plutt’s lane, his rangy form approaching with sweeping steps. From beyond the fence that marked his property, Rey could see Plutt standing, a grim smirk of satisfaction on his rubbery face. Hux moved swiftly to where they stood, placing himself firmly between them. Ren did not move, regarding him through the mask.

“Governor Hux,” Ren said lightly. “Quite a coincidence, meeting you here.”

“Careful, Ren,” Hux hissed. “The terms of your sentence are ever-mutable. You would do well to remember that.”

“Of course,” Ren said, a dangerous edge to his tone, “how imprudent of me to fail to recall the fluid nature of justice.”

Hux gritted his teeth. He turned to Rey. “Forgive me, miss, but is this criminal  _ disturbing _ you?”

_ Disturbing. _ Yes. An apt word. “No, Governor Hux. We were merely discussing business.”

Hux scoffed. “Business? What would a waif of a girl like yourself know of business? Know you not what this man stands convicted of?”

A low, threatening sound escaped Ren’s mask. His fingers clenched slowly into fists.

Rey recoiled at the malice in Hux’s tone, the abject delight he took in Ren’s torment. “Yes, Governor,” she answered evenly. “It appears the rumors were true.”

Hux blanched. “Oh?”

“Yes,” Rey said. “He did not even try to touch me.” Winking at Ren, she picked up her basket and walked toward her residence. She swore she heard choked laughter on the wind.

***

_ He did not even try to touch me. _

_ Did not even try. _

_ Touch me. _

_ Touch me. _

_ Touch me. _

Kylo Ren stalked through Takodana forest, his cloak billowing in the breeze as his boots crunched the ground underfoot. He could still picture the light in the young woman’s eyes; the playful tilt to her lips as she’d walked away, alone.

_ Rey. _

He’d seen her more than once in the weeks since his trial, always with her basket, walking alone to Plutt’s as she sought to bargain. He’d been inexplicably drawn to her, perhaps swayed by her solitude; perhaps for other, less noble reasons.

It mattered not. Still, as ever, he was alone.

Thirty days had passed since his sentence. Thirty days since that awful afternoon in the square, standing on a platform high above the crowd as the townsfolk jeered at his torment; the icy wind pelting his shivering body as he stood for hours on humiliating display. Grimly, he bore his punishment, trying in vain to block out their laughter, their whispers, but still some reached his frozen ears.

_ Witch, _ they’d hissed. _ Demon. He deserves his fate. _

Some days, he agreed with them. He had never intended to marry Beatrice Netal, had never cast thought to a long-term commitment until Percival Snoke had knocked on his door. Fate, cruel and cunning, had other plans.

“I need an apprentice,” Snoke had said, his milky-pale eyes shrewd. “My practice is growing and soon the First Order will span the whole of Massachusetts up to the village of Andover. We could do great things together, Kylo Ren, should you simply enter my service.”

It had been a most tempting offer, the power and glory tantalizingly within reach. Snoke’s law practice dabbled in treaties, property transfers, and government affairs. Like a blanket of fog, his influence had spread, shrouding the tiny towns along the Massachusetts settlement until nary a village did not bow to his might.

Still, Ren refused, claiming little interest in the law or the rituals of court. Snoke persisted, showering praise upon him when they’d met in his library, filling him with a sense of belonging long absent since the year his parents had perished in a fire. He’d scarcely made it out alive and had been dying by degrees every day since. A surrogate father filled a hole that had ached for years. At this, the most bittersweet temptation, Kylo Ren allowed himself to be seduced.

He accepted Snoke’s proposal, applying himself to the word of the law with the discipline of one used to sacrifice. It had been a joyous affair, receiving Snoke’s approval, until one afternoon he’d called him into his study. The old man lounged on a dais in the corner of the opulent room.

“We have a new ally, Kylo Ren,” Snoke said. Between his lips was a thick black cigar. Putrid smoke poured through his mouth as he puffed avidly. “Armitage Hux has landed in the Order. You will make him Governor.”

Ren blanched. “Governor, Master Snoke? For what possible end?”

“That is none of your concern,” Snoke answered. “See to it at once.”

Fearful of rejection, and though his heart begged otherwise, Kylo followed his instructions. It merely took an artfully-forged royal decree and a few ampley-lined pockets for Hux to ascend to his post. A satisfied sneer curled his lip as they celebrated in the aftermath.

Snoke poured each of them a drink, raising his glass to his proteges. “Congratulations, Governor Hux. Now you will marry Lady Beatrice Netal and our success will be complete.”

Hux paused, shifting his weight. “Netal? Marriage? But I cannot, my Lord. My father has arranged a marriage to the Duchess of Illenium when I return to England next fall.”

Snoke’s glass crashed into the fireplace. “You defy me?! Netal’s father owns hundreds of acres of land! Here! Now! In Massachusetts! You think that decision wiser than returning to your pathetic homeland?! We’re building an EMPIRE, boy!”

Hux paled but did not cower. Instead, he waved a hand at Ren. “If I may, my lord, there is another option.”

Ren’s blood ran cold.

It had happened quickly and without his consent, a sham of a marriage forged into bond by one of Snoke’s numerous lackeys. No church bells rang, no guests toasted their happiness. It was completed in secret, two names signed on a thin black line. When he led them into their wedded home Ren simply walked toward his room in silence.

“You will sleep in the kitchen,” he called over his shoulder, just before closing the door to his bedroom. “I trust you’ll find the way.”

Her embarrassed tears echoed all through the night and over the weeks up to her unexpected demise.

_ Beatrice. _

She had been a pawn in their game, a casualty of war he hadn’t known he’d been fighting. Only later, when he’d refused to forge the King’s signature on a land grant for Snoke, did he recognize the depths of his folly. He’d found Beatrice’s body the next week, a wedding dress she’d never worn blowing in the breeze, Snoke’s sigil carved into the sole of her shoe.

He’d wept then, bitter tears, until the constables had found him hours later, sealing his fate.

Now, as he walked through the silent halls of his home, fire long since extinguished as he sat near the hearth, he recalled Rey’s words:

_ Touch me. _

Beatrice had said that once, though Ren hadn’t the heart to follow through. She’d pleaded, confused and rejected, but he refused to yield. He’d not felt anything approaching desire though her face was lovely and her body ripe.

He had wondered, at the time, if there was something wrong with him. Though he’d tamped down his lust as an adolescent, his adult urges were decidedly more subdued. He’d often wondered if he had been ill, if he’d been hexed as a child...

Until today.

_ Oh, today. _

How very wrong he’d been.

Ren’s eyes closed as he carelessly removed his mask. The monstrosity fell to the floor with a clunk.

She had been beautiful, the woman at Plutt’s. Sleekly muscled, with lovely tanned skin and almond-shaped eyes, a few wisps of chestnut hair peeking out from her cap.

_ Rey. _

No fear had tainted her gorgeous face; she’d stood proud and tall as she’d prepared to consider his offer. He’d wondered, then, what she would have said. If she would’ve smiled, bartered playfully, her eyes dancing with glee, her breasts heaving as she…

_...No. _

They were sinful, those thoughts. Wicked and baseless, a sure path to ruin. And yet…

His mind’s eye conjured her svelte body, the fall of her hair over her shoulders, the curved lines of her slender thighs, his name, ripe upon her pouting lips as he teased her with his tongue.

He felt himself harden.

_ Fuck. _

Swiftly, he stood, retiring to his bedroom. He knelt on the floor, head bowed, shirt removed. In his fist, he cradled a narrow black belt. Breathing through his nose, he willed the urges to pass, concentrating on the harsh dark wood beneath his knees, the rough bite of leather in his palms.

_ She’d beg, sweetly, lips parted as he suckled her breasts… _

_ “Kylo,” she’d cry, “touch me.” _

Ren snapped the belt. It bit into his spine with vicious, jagged teeth, connecting in single, sharp crack. He choked back a tortured scream.

_ Rey. _

Her face, a mirage; distant and unattainable, her smile shining like sand in the harsh desert sun. Again he struck, the force of his hand seeking to drive her from his mind, to purify his heart, to restore tranquility to his shattered soul.

_ Forgive me. _

He panted, jaw clenched. Sweat beaded on his brow. The thick slide of blood coursed sticky trails down his back.

_ Rey. _

He prepared to strike again when he heard a knock at the door.

Ren stilled.

_ Who?... _

He waited, trembling, biting his lip against the belt’s savage sting, hardly daring to move.

The knock came again.

He staggered to his feet, dragging his shirt over his body, hissing at the burn of contact against his ruined flesh. Quickly, he jammed the wretched mask over his face and threw open the door without looking.

“Brother Ren.”

Kylo flinched.

_ Rey. _

She stood on his doorstep, basket in hand, a worn-looking brown cloak draped over her shoulders. Scuffed shoes shuffled at the edges of his stoop as she watched him expectantly, gazing into the empty void where his eyes ought to be.

“Miss Rey,” he said. He angled his body away from the door so that she would not see his still-dripping skin. Tongue-tied, he simply stared.

Rey’s nose twitched. “I apologize for arriving uninvited. I had only hoped we could continue our bargain.”

Kylo’s eyes narrowed. “You traveled all this way simply to barter some milk?”

Rey shrugged. “It is not far from where I live. There, you can see my house down the lane.” She pointed a short way down the path that led to the forest. At the treeline, a dilapidated stone cottage sagged as though struggling against the wind.

“The old Kenobi residence?” Kylo huffed. “That building ought to have been condemned years ago.”

Rey’s eyes tightened. “It is all that I could afford, Brother Ren–”

“Kylo,” he said, “my name is Kylo.”

Rey inclined her head, undeterred. “As you wish, Kylo. As I was saying, it was all I could afford…”

“Where are your parents?” he demanded. Rey’s mouth hardened. Her toe tapped as she regarded him warily.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but they left with Mr. Dameron on a diplomatic voyage. They will return in the spring.” She swallowed. Almost to herself, she whispered, “they’ll be back, you’ll see.”

Kylo bit his lip. Dark clouds had moved into the east. The days grew shorter as winter approached. It was unusual for a woman of any age to live alone, but in her youth and beauty, he wondered how cruel her family had been to simply abandon her in the crumbling shack. “You shouldn’t be there alone. Near the forest. It’s not safe, you could run into–”

“A creature in a mask?” Rey parried. Kylo’s shoulders dropped slightly. His head bowed. Rey drew a sharp breath. “Forgive me, that was cruel. I know it was not of your choosing.”

Kylo bristled at her pity. “You’re correct; it was not,” he snapped. “Shall we do business or do you intend to simply loiter at my door until you starve to death?”

Rey raised her chin. “Fine. Let’s discuss our terms.”

Whirling around and heading down the hall, Kylo froze at Rey’s pained gasp. It stole the breath from her lungs, the agony he must have endured. The suffering such brutality must have evoked. All her indignation melted away as she gawked at his tattered flesh.

“You’re bleeding,” she croaked. With trembling hands, she touched his shoulder. A simple kindness. Kylo stepped out of reach.

“It’s fine,” he said. Shame colored his words. He could feel her eyes upon him; her pity, a sodden weight against his chest. His voice barely carried through the quiet house.

Taking a cautious step forward, Rey approached. Her voice drained of formality, dissolving into a soft, coaxing tone that even despite his resistance served to soothe Kylo’s rattled nerves.

“No, Kylo. It’s not fine. Your back...it’s...what happened?” One hesitant step at a time, she advanced from the side. Dark, wet patches stained the middle of his black shirt, a macabre patchwork of agony. He stood ramrod stiff, hands clenched, as she began to pull the fabric away.

At the lightest touch of her hand, he recoiled. Still, she persisted, stroking careful fingers over his shoulder as she gently pushed the shirt aside. He winced as the congealed blood caught on the fabric, revealing his ruined flesh.

She sucked in a breath. “Mercy, Kylo. This will surely scar. What...who?...”

“It matters not,” he whispered. “Wounds heal, Rey.”

She did not hear him, disappearing into his kitchen to draw a basin of water. Struggling not to spill, she brought it to the hearth to warm.

“Sit down and remove your shirt,” she ordered. Her skirts swished as she walked back down the hall. Her tone bid no argument.

Kylo’s mind raced as he heard her puttering in the kitchen, pulling alcohol from the cabinet above his stove and gathering clean cloths from his tiny washroom. _ Weak,  _ he roared at himself.  _ This never would have happened had you not been so deplorably  _ **_weak._ ** _ Had you not thought of her with sin in your heart. Had you not… _

“Come here, toward the light,” Rey said. In one hand, she clutched a rag soaked with alcohol. In the other, a tumbler of whisky. Kylo arched an eyebrow at the glass.

“You will drink it,” she said. Her command was tempered with kindness. “I shall not have you needlessly subject yourself to further pain.”

Kylo’s lips twitched. A hysterical, inappropriate laugh threatened to burst from his mouth.  _ If you only knew. _

Steadying himself, he took the glass from her outstretched hand. Deep amber liquid swirled at the bottom. He stared at it for a long, loaded moment, as though he might find salvation in its depths. With shaking hands, he removed his mask, ignoring Rey’s soft sound of surprise. He brought the glass to his lips, downing it in a single gulp, welcoming the burn in his chest. Slowly, he turned. The mask remained on the table, a gruesome witness to sudden vulnerability.

“You cannot tell them,” he whispered. “I…”

Rey’s kind eyes made something inside his frozen heart twist. “I will not. You needn’t suffer when I am here. It will be our secret. Sit down,” she urged. “Let the whisky take hold.”

Kylo exhaled a tremulous breath. So tempting, so easy it would be to rest, just for a moment. To take comfort in the presence of another without fear. Without hatred. Seduced, he nodded, lowering himself into a stiff wooden chair near the fire. Tendrils of warmth caressed his face.

Rey sat across from him, ankles crossed primly beneath her skirts. Her hands remained folded in her lap as she watched him fidget.

“You’re...you’re new to the Order, correct?” Kylo said finally. He stared into the flames, unable to stand the silence another moment. “Not from around here?”

“Not originally. My parents and I came from Jakku at the behest of Mr. Dameron. They...requested...I remain behind while they carried out their voyage.” Rey trailed off. She played with her fingers; pulled a stray thread from her dress. “And you?”

“I am from a town called Chandrila, north of here. I came to the Order in my later years.”

“Your family?”

“Gone,” he said. He did not elaborate. A warm lassitude seeped through his limbs as he watched the flames sputter and dance. His head sagged forward; the sweet burn of whisky beckoned him toward sleep. His eyes drooped, even as he heard Rey stand.

She stroked his hair back from his forehead, a forbidden thrill racing through her bloodstream at how soft, how full it was. He groaned, so low and quiet she could hardly be sure he heard him. For a long moment she stood, carding fingers through his hair, drawing patterns on his scalp as he breathed through parted lips. Gripping the cloth between her shaking fingers, she whispered, “stay still, Kylo. I will make this as painless as possible but I fear it will still hurt.”

Kylo nodded, lost in the feel of her hands through his hair. So gentle. Soothing.  _ Rey. _

Rey lowered the cloth to his back.

Kylo jolted, biting back a scream, a strangled gasp catching in his chest. The whites of his eyes bulged as he tried to recoil. Only the firm press of Rey’s hand to his shoulder kept him in place.

“Shhhhh, Kylo, shhhhhh...it’s okay, it’s okay…” Rey’s voice was high and frantic. Her hands trembled as she mopped away the blood. Deep gashes marred his flesh; the tell-tale mark of leather’s bite.

“Who did this?” she said again. Tears distorted her voice; blurred her vision. She rinsed the cloth in the basin, gagging as the water turned a sickly red-pink. “You must tell me.”

Kylo coughed, a choked, watery noise that wrenched Rey’s heart. “It matters not,” he whispered, an echoed, hopeless refrain. “Wounds heal.”

Rey hid her face, biting her lip as she washed his back with careful strokes. Closing her eyes, she reached for the alcohol, a quick prayer crossing her lips before she brought the soaked cloth to his skin. Kylo cried out, hands clenched. Before she could stop herself, Rey pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. She wrapped arms around his shoulder as she blew cool air over the deepest wound. It was not much, but he latched onto this smallest of comforts. He shuddered, a broken moan escaping his lips as the sting began to fade.

“Almost done,” Rey whispered. She could no longer keep her tears at bay. Her heart ached for the pain he’d endured. “Just a moment longer.”

At last she finished. The stained cloth dropped into the basin with a wet plop. Wordlessly, she handed him the whisky bottle. This time, he drank greedily, glassy eyes pinched shut. When he handed it back to her, she raised it to her lips without a second thought, drawing a deep draught as she swallowed quickly. She smothered a cough. Another secret, forged in silence.

On his feet, Kylo weaved, weary with fatigue and agony. “You should leave,” he said, though his tone was not unkind. “It will be dark soon and I could not have it on my conscience should harm befall you on your journey home.” He walked toward his bedroom only to stagger into the wall, flinching as the impact sent a firebrand of pain down his spine.

Rey shook her head. Taking his hand, she guided him down the hall. He shrugged her off, bracing his hands on either side of the archway as he took stumbling steps forward.

_ So stubborn, _ she thought, _ this broken man who hides in shadow. So proud. Has he no one to care for him? No family to ease his suffering? _

“Let me help you,” she pleaded. Kylo would not be coddled. With difficulty, he shuffled to his bedroom. Alcohol’s thick fog clouded his sluggish movements, impairing his judgment as he struggled with his pants. Only when the soft warmth of Rey’s palm grazed his hip did he realize he was completely nude in her presence.

He flushed, ashamed. Squelched an image of her pressed against him, hip to shoulder, his open mouth dotting kisses down her neck. Silenced her voice in his head urging, “ _ please, Kylo, closer.”  _ Yanking a blanket from the bed, he awkwardly wrapped it around his waist. “You needn’t follow me further,” he stammered. The tips of his ears flamed. “I’ll be fine…” Sagging onto the mattress, he breathed heavily through his nose, lips parted as he tried to gain his bearings.  _ Tired. So Tired. _

After straightening the covers on his unmade bed, Rey unlaced Kylo’s shoes and guided his legs onto the mattress. This time, he went willingly, squarely caught in exhaustion’s snare. As she leaned forward, Kylo swayed. His mouth came dangerously close to hers, close enough to share breath. Close enough to feel warmth. Rey focused on the plump, rosy crest of his lips; the hazy, drunken glaze to his eyes.

“Still here, my sweet shadow?” he murmured, words slurred, soft. Drowsy. Languid. “Would you follow me to dreams, if I asked? I should like to see...you…”

With her deft hands guiding his shoulders, he slumped on his side, voice trailing off. Sleep’s heavy hand fell upon his brow. His chest rose and fell with slow, even breath; his body blessedly calm.

Rey stood still for a long, electric moment. With trembling fingers, she drew the blanket over his hips, averting her eyes from his nudity. Carefully, she draped a clean cloth across his back, protecting his dressed wounds. Unable to resist the urge, she leaned down and brushed a tendril of hair away from his forehead.

“Good night, Kylo Ren,” she whispered, “may God heal you quickly.”

***

In the morning, Ren woke with a pounding headache. Acid pooled in his stale, dry mouth. Nausea crawled through his roiling stomach. A poker of sunlight drilled between his eyes from beyond the meager blinds covering his window. He groaned, hiding his face in the pillows.

_ Rey… _

Shame, hot and furious, bubbled up from his belly, cresting his cheeks, his neck, his lips. He had been so maudlin, so utterly  _ helpless _ in her tender care. A downfall of his own design, he’d succumbed to his lecherous impulses, begging affection as a dog pleads for scraps. Weak. Needy. Overwhelmed by her presence. Even now, he thought of nothing else: her hands on his body. Her scent in his nose. Her pity, clear and damning across her lovely face.

Kylo swore.

It had been foolish to think they’d ever agree to barter; utter folly to assume that she’d be able to view him as anything more than the grievous monster in a mask, the town’s fatal terror. A cautionary tale to all tempted to sway from the path of righteousness.

He sighed, rubbing a hand across his mouth. No matter. He had little care for anything beyond his daily routine. He would simply go about his business as though she didn’t exist.

Stretching, he grimaced as the bandages across spine shifted. He could feel the tactile stickiness of dried blood, a nascent itch that would soon grow unbearable. He had been careless. Overzealous in his penitence. His wounds would need to be cleaned and re-dressed or at the very least, salve applied.

His eyes strayed to his bedroom window. Perhaps...one more meeting. The closing of a door best left sealed. A goodbye for an acquaintance far too brief.

Kylo shivered. Dressing quickly, he yanked on a crumpled pair of breeches and jammed his feet into heavy boots. Not bothering with a shirt, he washed his face and hands in the tiny basin, rinsing his mouth aggressively to dislodge morning’s foul taste. When he finished, he came to the front room and regarded his mask, discarded on the chair near the fire.

For a moment, he stared. His jaw clenched as he imagined lowering it over his face. Obscuring his sight. Trapping him in darkness. For the first time, it felt like a punishment, like a brutal prison designed to rob him of one of life’s simple joys. He picked it up. Brushed his thumb over the silver ridges where the eyes should be. Lifted it so the very bottom of the helm skirted his hair.

Kylo put the mask down.

He would see Rey unencumbered by darkness, if only for the very last time.

Leaving the mask on the chair, he walked out his front door and down the path toward Rey’s cottage. Brisk air greeted his nose. The crisp chill provided a welcome change from the stale recycled taste of his own breath. Autumn leaves had long since faded, leaving a carpet of black-brown mulch across the ground. All around him, crows cried their mournful song, warning one another of winter’s impending arrival.

The walk to Rey’s home was blessedly brief. Goosebumps prickled his exposed arms and chest as he hustled toward her cottage. Thrice he knocked on her door, bouncing on the tips of his toes to stay warm.

As she greeted him, Rey’s eyes widened. “Brother Re...Kylo,” she said. “I did not expect to see you this early.”

Her tone was kind but her eyes wary as they skirted over his half-nude form. Shivering, Kylo held her gaze.  _ Do not look at me that way,  _ he thought. _ As cracked and broken as a fallen pitcher of milk.  _ He lowered his eyes.

“I came to offer thanks for your...services. You were terribly kind, and I–”

“Your back,” Rey said, cutting him off, “how is it this morning?”

Kylo sighed. All resolve to remain stoic, to show nothing but the most clinical detachment, vanished at the concern in her voice.

“It hurts,” he whispered. _Weak. So weak._ _Unable to even bear punishment with dignity._ Heat lit the tips of his ears; a wobble crested his lips.

Rey’s face softened at the pain in his voice, at the way this massive, imposing man made himself impossibly small on her doorstep. “Come inside, Kylo,” she encouraged. When he hesitated, she grasped his hand, gently tugging him over the threshold. “At the very least, we still have business to conduct.” She offered him a smile.

Reluctantly, he stepped through the doorway, his shoulders relaxing at the cracklingfire in the hearth. The dilapidated former Kenobi residence looked infinitely more cheerful from the inside. A small bouquet of wildflowers adorned her kitchen table. A tiny doll in a worn orange vest perched on the chair near the fire. The kettle bubbled merrily on the stove.  _ Home _ , he thought. _ It feels like home. _

Kylo’s eyes lighted on the meager trinkets, the small touches that spoke to a world beyond his reach. He snuck a look toward the kitchen, but Rey’s gaze was shrewd.

“Have you eaten, Kylo?” she asked.

Kylo blushed, scratching the back of his neck. It had been years since someone had cooked for him, since someone had welcomed him to their table, showed him fellowship and kindness beyond the most basic social constructs. “I have not. I just now awoke, but please do not trouble yourself.”

Rey twisted her fingers. “I could make you something, if you like. It’s really no trouble at all.” She neglected to mention her dwindling stores of flour, the precious eggs that even now would not sustain her through the week.

Kylo’s mouth tightened. “Perhaps another time. I will not take food from your mouth when–”

“I am not a charity case, Kylo,” Rey’s voice was kind but firm. “I can spare a meal to share with you.”

“Forgive me,” he murmured, “I meant no offense. Perhaps…” He sucked a breath through pursed lips. “Perhaps we could...share...some of my provisions. Plutt’s offerings were more than generous; it seems foolish to let the fresh goods go to waste.”

“Generous, indeed,” Rey said. Her eyebrows nearly disappeared beneath her cap. “What, precisely, do you have over Plutt that convinced him to be so noble?”

A smirk twisted the edges of Kylo’s lips. “He was once my family’s tenant. We sold him his current property with the understanding he’d pay an in-kind tithe so long as he owned it. I...had no idea that his ‘generosity’ failed to extend to others.” Kylo stepped forward. A hard, flinty edge lurked in his eyes. “He will give you no trouble in the future. I will see to it.”

Rey found herself trapped by the intensity in his gaze, the sincerity in his promise. A current, low and throbbing, pulsed between them in the quiet warmth of her living room.

Kylo’s stomach growled.

Startled, Rey laughed, nervously wiping her hands on the front of her dress. “Let’s focus on current priorities. I can make you some porridge, if you like? And check your back?”

Kylo wandered behind Rey as she bustled into the kitchen. Reaching up on her toes, she pulled a canister of oats from her cupboard. Before he could hide it, Kylo wrinkled his nose.

Rey’s hand went to her hip. “I take it you’re not fond of porridge? I have little else to offer, sadly.”

Kylo stared at the ground. “It appears I have offended you once more.” He sighed, fidgeting. A moment later he looked up. A strange sort of hope colored his features. “Do you like pancakes? I could make them, if you wish. It would be little trouble and I would only need to fetch the ingredients.”

Rey gaped. “Pancakes…” she said slowly. “You cook?”

“I...learned long ago. Just a few things, but they’ve served me well. It truly wouldn’t be any trouble, and in the spirit of sharing...” he trailed off. Biting his lip, he looked at her with something like longing. Rey’s reluctance melted away.

“I should like to have pancakes,” she smiled. An unguarded look of delight crossed Kylo’s face. Delicate, burgeoning; a crocus bud breaking ground in the spring. “If you fetch the ingredients I will put on coffee–and don’t argue, Kylo. You needn’t provide everything.”

_ But I would,  _ Kylo thought with inexplicable fondness,  _ I would give you everything _ .

Fifteen minutes later they sat at Rey’s kitchen table, their lips glistening with melted butter, a decadent luxury Rey had protested but quickly smothered at the first, hedonic bite. Eyes fluttering closed, she moaned with a passion that should have been scandalous before offering Kylo a radiant smile.

_ Sunlight, _ he thought,  _ would that I be burned from her glow? _

“This is...my goodness, Kylo. This is truly delicious. You’ve outdone yourself.”

A small, content smile graced his lips. “They’re acceptable,” he said. He glanced at Rey, eyes dancing. “I’m pleased you like them.”

“If this is indicative of our pending partnership, I might consider expanding it if only fear of gluttony didn’t stop me!” Rey laughed, wiping her mouth. Happy and full, she grinned again. “I had no idea you were so…” she trailed off.

Kylo’s smile dimmed. “Human?” he said. A shadow passed over his face; a joke made without humor. “I assure you I am. I appreciate your kindness. I’ve...” He faltered, caught in another one of his maddening pauses. Finally, he settled on, “I’ve enjoyed your company, Rey. And your compassion. As it is, I’ve already overstayed my welcome.”

“Come back tomorrow,” she said simply. “And bring your flour, as agreed.”


	3. November 1692

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for the time you've spent reading this tale. I smile with every single one of your kudos, comments, subscriptions and bookmarks.

_**November 1692** _

“You grip her too tightly, Kylo, she’s frightened by your strength.” Rey stifled a giggle as she watched his large hands tug at Beebee’s shriveled udders. The aging cow mooed plaintively, a baleful look on her whiskered face.

Kylo huffed, loosening his fingers as he tugged again in vain. “Perhaps she is simply too old to produce, Rey. And it would mark the first time my touch wasn’t welcomed.”

Rey inhaled sharply. Kylo froze. His cheeks flamed red and his lips burned. “That...I mean...I did not…” He turned his attention to Beebee. Suddenly, he appeared very interested in the patterns of hair on her belly. When Rey crouched beside him, curling her fingers over his, he jumped.

“It’s okay, Beebee,” she murmured. She stroked a hand over the cow’s flank. “Relax. That’s a girl.”

Kylo inclined his face toward Rey’s, stealing a glance from the corner of his eyes. They sat close enough that their knees brushed. The heat of her arms sent a shudder of arousal down his spine. Gently, she guided his fingers down and over the cow’s skin with steady, firm pressure. Kylo swallowed, face heated. Barely a palm’s width separated his mouth from hers. It would be so easy, so effortless to take her lips, to brush his mouth everywhere he could reach. So unbearably tempting...

“There we go!” Rey murmured as the milk finally began to pour into the metal pail. “Good girl.”

“Good girl,” Kylo breathed. Drawing a deep breath, he focused on the gentle, rhythmic stroke of their entwined fingers.

It was a long time before he stood.

***

That afternoon, Rey loaded her ramshackle cart with the pail of milk as Kylo neatly stacked a cord of firewood beside it.

“Take my wagon,” he urged. Rey shook her head.

“They would recognize it as yours, Kylo. We cannot have Plutt asking questions.”

“Plutt will not cross me.”

“–Until it suits him to do otherwise. It is not Plutt I fear, but Hux. You said it yourself: his ambitions will bring evil to the Order. We cannot risk him knowing.”

“At least let me accompany you to the treeline. The cart is heavy enough as it is.”

Rey smiled. “I shall be fine, Kylo. I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

A strange look passed over Kylo’s face. “You remind me daily, shadow,” he murmured. “That does not make me desire it less.” He stepped forward, fondly brushing the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Hurry back. And be careful.” His hand curved to cup her chin in his palm, the warm weight inviting; the skin smooth, supple. Petal-soft; a delicate bloom. Enthralled, he passed his thumb feather-light over the arch of her parted lips.

Unbidden, Rey closed them around his skin, drawing him into the heat of her mouth. Silky, like warmed maple syrup, she came pouring through the cracks along his brittle shell.

Kylo groaned. Helpless; low and soft.

“ _ Rey _ ...” Luscious, wet heat. So deliciously sinful, so exquisitely sweet...

At the sound of her name, Rey balked. She stepped back, putting distance between them, and yet the invisible tether that bound them still pulled. “I apologize. I...I’ll be back shortly.” Casting a glance over her shoulder, she grabbed the cart’s handles and began walking briskly down the path toward town.

Her lips tingled long after the cottage vanished from sight.

Alone, in the doorway, Kylo closed his eyes. Gritted his teeth. Clenched his fingers. Battled the heat that flooded his chest, his hips, his belly. Coiled and restless, lust’s hissing spectre whispered empty promises in his ear.  _ Foolish. Forbidden. _

He stalked into the house. On the bureau, his belt remained curled in an oval, a snake eating its own tail, no end and no beginning. With a heavy heart, he wrapped it around his wrist.

_ Forgive me. _

**

Rey ducked her chin into the folds of her cloak as she hurried along the path. Though the walk to Plutt’s was short, the cold, damp air clung to her face and neck, a clammy hand whose grip grew ever-tighter. It would snow soon. Kylo had been certain to stack additional firewood outside her cottage, but Massachusetts grew dreadfully cold in the barren winter. Perhaps she would cut back on her offerings to Plutt.

“A storm is coming soon, Miss Rey.”

Rey jumped at the unexpected voice, pressing a hand to her heart. From beyond the stone wall marking the Erso property, Hux appeared out of the shadows. His lips curved in dark amusement as he regarded her cart. “It appears you have already prepared. Impressive that you’re able to consistently provide so much firewood. Even my best men struggle to cut and stack as much as you seem to bring.”

Rey paled. “I am a hard worker, Governor Hux. I have no one to provide for me save myself.”

Hux’s leather-clad fingers stroked his lips. “Yes. So it would seem. You live on the edge of town, do you not? At the Kenobi residence.”

“I do.”

“Not many people out there. It could be dangerous, especially for a woman your age. But...” His eyes narrowed in warning, the bait set, “I do seem to remember Kylo Ren had a residence there. Tell me, have you seen him lately?”

Ice raced along Rey’s spine at the look in his eyes, the lethal edge to his voice. Slowly, she began to walk away, guiding her cart around the corner toward Plutt’s lane. “I have not, Governor Hux. He is forbidden company, as you’ve indicated many times before.”

“Yes,” Hux drawled. “It would be a pity indeed to learn that someone had assisted him in violating the terms of his sentencing. Why, the punishment for such an infraction could be quite severe. One might even find her property seized, for example.”

Rey’s steps quickened, her boots pounding swiftly. Plutt’s house came into view.  _ Twenty yards. Fifteen. Almost there. _ Her pulse fluttered in her throat; a frightened rabbit’s panicked rhythm. At last, she guided the cart up the winding drive. Hux lingered behind her, watching.

“Do heed my warning, Miss Rey,” Hux called. “I would hate for something to happen to you, especially with your family absent.”

Rey’s blood ran cold.

***

Later that evening, she returned home with her cart and a paltry sack of flour. With leaden feet she trudged up the lane. A throbbing headache pulsed along the bridge of her nose. Fear’s boulder, cold and heavy, plunged in her stomach as she pictured the look on Hux’s face, the sinister timbre of his words.

_...with your family absent. _

Months had passed since that fateful day when the  _ Resistance _ had set sail. Mr. Dameron’s pride and joy, the ship was an older model but still more than capable of maneuvering through the choppy waters of the Atlantic. With her mother and father aboard, Rey had watched as the ship set out toward the coast of South America, white sails waving farewell as it disappeared from sight.

Rey’s heart seized. In her mind’s eye, she could still picture Poe Dameron’s kind face as he’d pressed a tattered piece of parchment into her trembling hands.

_ “If I do not return, dear Rey, you must promise to look after my home. Keep the deed safe. Lock it away where no one can find it. If I should perish, my estate falls to you.” _

_ “No,” she wept. _

_ Poe smiled, fondness crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Yes, my lady. Do me this kindness. I shall sleep better at night knowing you’re safe.” _

_ “But what about you?” Rey cried. “How shall I know you are safe?” _

_ Poe laughed, catching the eye of his handsome first mate. “Finn will keep me in line. And I will look out for your parents.” _

The voyage was supposed to last six weeks. Six weeks became six months. Now, nearly a year since the _ Resistance _ had departed the shore, no trace of it had been seen on the sea. No word from the ports of call, nor from the  _ Alliance _ , departed shortly after. Over time’s gradual stretch, Rey’s hope faded and dimmed. Memory’s colors had dulled to grey; only the trinkets she’d kept in her home had brought her any sort of comfort. 

Brushing away tears, she walked the cart to the stable. She threw a few extra handfuls of hay in Beebee’s stall and offered her the last of the late-fall apples. Ren had been right; her production slowed weekly and soon the time would come to consider whether the cost of feeding her would exceed the milk she could provide. Had it not been for Ren, she surely would have starved. Indeed, she owed him a tremendous debt of gratitude, far more than the meager pitchers of milk she’d offered. Yet, he seemed content with their arrangement, even to his own detriment. She longed for something to offer him to balance the scales.

The cow mooed.

“Don’t look at me like that, Beebee. You’ve helped me so much, you’re practically worth your weight in silver. I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” she said. Beebee looked at her with a doleful expression. Rey sighed.

Dragging the stable door closed behind her, Rey started toward her cottage. She placed her handle on the ancient doorknob and stopped. She turned to face Ren’s house, inspiration’s light in her eyes.

_ Worth her weight, indeed. _


	4. December 1692

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for your time spent reading, comments, kudos, and subscriptions. Welcome to my new readers and hello again and thank you for those who've been around since I first started posting. I'd love to hear what you think of the story!

_**December 1692** _  

“Good morrow, Miss Rey,” Plutt regarded her warily. His bulky down cloak bulged around his shoulders, making him seem like a bloated, angry cloud. “What have you brought me today?”

Rey placed her basket on the counter. Three dozen fat mackerel lay neatly wrapped within, their shiny silver scales gleaming with health.

Plutt’s eyes widened, his mouth twisting with greed. “Caught today, I presume?”

Rey nodded.

“Well, that is certainly worth at least five eggs–”

“I’d like a brooch,” Rey said, perfectly calm. “Something silver, if you have it. Meant to adorn a cloak.”

Plutt roared with laughter, pounding his fists on the counter as spittle rained from his mouth. “A silver brooch for three dozen fish? Surely you must be joking.”

No humor crossed her face. “I assure you I am quite serious, but worry not. In addition, I will offer my cow. But only if you’re able to procure it by month’s end.”

Plutt leered, stroking his jaw with meaty fingers. “A brooch? Something tells me that a girl like you has no taste for jewelry. Are you lying with someone Rey? Caught in a lover’s wicked grasp? Surely that’s something the Pastor might hear. In fact, I...”

“The brooch, Plutt,” Rey snapped. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Plutt grumbled, muttering under his breath. Waddling toward the back of his shed, he rummaged in an old copper box for a few moments, finally withdrawing a small object. With labored breath, he placed it on the counter, chest heaving.

“Here. Previous occupants left it behind. A little worse for the wear, but it should shine up right lovely.”

Rey stared at the tarnished silver pin, at the intricate metalwork that would gleam like the sun if properly shined and cared for. A falcon, proud and noble, perched on a thin branch of oak. Every feather carved in painstaking detail. A protective look graced its expressive face, the very picture of dignity.

“I’ll take it,” she breathed.

“The cow?” prompted Plutt.

“I will bring Beebee over tomorrow afternoon. Be careful, though,” she grinned, grabbing the pin and backing away, “she overeats dreadfully in the winter.”

Rey practically skipped on the way home, clutching the smooth, warm metal in her fingers as she followed the path to her cottage. Sweet December sugar-snow fell, blanketing the ground in sparkling white powder. Ahead, she could see Kylo leading his horse to the stable, a thick woolen hat jammed tight over his head. Rey slowed, smiling fondly as she watched him whisper to the sleek stallion. As if he could sense her presence, Kylo looked up, a broad grin splitting his stern face.

“Come on, slowpoke!” he cried. “It’s frigid outside! I’ve just made supper; won’t you join me?”

Laughing, Rey walked up the path, kicking up snow in her wake. As she approached, Kylo’s eyes took on a warmth, a tenderness that Rey could not place. Longing? Adoration? Both made her shiver.

“Christmas comes early, I think,” he said, brushing traces of snow from her cap. Affectionate. Playful. “I caught a deer this afternoon. There will be plenty to feed us through the month.”

Rey practically bounced off her heels. “A deer? So late in season? Such fortune! Let’s go inside, I’ll cook–”

“You won’t.” He arched a teasing eyebrow. “I shan’t have you wasting perfectly good meat with your dubious concoctions.”

He yelped as a snowball hit him square in the face. Narrowing his eyes, he gleefully returned fire, their voices echoing through the trees as they battled in the snow.

At last, they heaved for air, faces flushed and happy as they returned to the cottage. A rich, earthy smell wafted from the pot on the stove.

“Oh, Kylo,” Rey breathed. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”

“It wasn’t.” Pulling out her chair, he guided her to sit. “Here. Let’s eat.”

Together, they bowed their heads in prayer as Kylo spoke quietly, heartfelt words of gratitude that stilled the breath in Rey’s lungs, that swelled her heart to near overflowing. Simple, so simple. The house. The meal. Him. A salve to ease her uncertainty, to fill the hole her missing family left behind.

Reaching across the table, Kylo brushed the back of her hand with his thumb. “Where did you go, Rey?” His eyes filled with concern.

“Nowhere,” she whispered. Her expression eased. “I’m right here, where I should be.”

A small, fierce smile graced Kylo’s face. “Eat, my sweet shadow,” he said. “Before it gets cold.”

Rey dug in. Kylo glowed with satisfaction.

After dinner, Rey took their plates, brushing off Kylo’s efforts to wash up with a pointed glare and a gentle shove toward the hearth. Relenting, he went, sipping a small glass of rare brandy he kept hidden on a shelf behind the stove.

“For special occasions,” he smirked.

As Rey scrubbed the dishes, her mind began to wander to the precious cargo hidden in the folds of her dress. Should she give it to him now? Later? Christmas approached, but if the past year had taught her anything it was life offered no certainties. Glancing at Kylo, at his handsome face lax with contentment, Rey smiled.

_Special occasions. Indeed._

Quickly, she finished with the dishes and hurried into the other room, straightening her dress and cap as she went.

“Such haste, shadow,” Kylo drawled. His rosy lips kicked up in a grin. Languid eyes followed her as she sat beside him, taking his hand in hers.

“Christmas did indeed come early,” she whispered. “I...brought you a gift.”

Kylo’s eyes widened, his stockinged feet sliding as he struggled to straighten himself in the chair. “A gift? Rey...that’s...you cannot…”

“I did.” Emboldened by the brandy and feeling more daring than she had in years, she pressed her fingers to Kylo’s sputtering lips. He stilled instantly, breath catching in his chest as he watched her, transfixed. Before she could pull away, his lips pursed gently, bestowing the smallest of kisses against her warm fingers.

Rey struggled to breathe.

A deep, heated blush colored her face. Looking down, she smiled; a soft, secret expression that made Kylo’s heart clench. “I did not wrap it. It needs some care. But...I got this for you. To thank you. For…”

“Rey…”

She withdrew the falcon from her pocket, placing it on Kylo’s lap. For a moment, he just stared, a blank expression on his face.

“Where...where did you get this?” he whispered. Something dangerous lurked at the edges of his voice.

Rey sat back on her heels, her enthusiasm replaced by wariness.

“Plutt’s. He said it was left behind...it…”

“He happened to offer this exact piece of jewelry? Convenient,” Kylo said.

“I did not tell him it was for you.” Tears pricked at the edges of her vision. “It was in an old copper box. He thought it discarded. I didn’t think–”

“No,” Kylo snapped, “you did not.” Huffing through his nose, he closed his eyes. Rage, fierce and fiery, flowed through his blood. His father’s brooch in Plutt’s hands. After he thought it lost forever. Rey’s bargain. What she must have given up when she had so little to trade?

A moment later, the pieces clicked into place.

“Rey,” he said quietly, all anger eroded, “where is Beebee?”

Rey looked away.

“Rey. No. Tell me you did not trade your cow for a piece of silver.” _For me,_ he thought. Sadness rose swift like a cresting wave.

Rey met his gaze head-on.

“It was worth it,” she said. Her voice did not waver.

“But–”

“–I will take the gift back, if it displeases you.” A hollow ache colored her words.

“No,” he said. He grabbed her fingers, cradling them to his chest. “I am grateful. And touched by your extraordinary kindness, though I do not think myself worthy. I just never expected to see this again.” Rubbing a hand over tired eyes, he sighed, looking into the fire. “It belonged to my father, once. Years ago, before the fire. A family heirloom. He called it ‘the millennium falcon.’ I thought it lost forever.” His voice trailed off, his head hanging down as he drew a deep breath. A humorless laugh escaped his lips. “I should have known better, what with Snoke handling the estate. No matter. It’s here now. As are you.”

Kylo’s hand squeezed hers, a gentle pulse of gratitude that started in his fingers and ended in her heart. Picking up the silver falcon, he turned it over and over in hand. At last, he offered Rey a tentative smile.

“When I was a boy, I’d steal this from my father’s cloak when he wasn’t looking. I loved the way it looked–the noble falcon. He caught me more than once. Tanned my hide for it.” He huffed a laugh. “I wonder what he’d say, seeing it now.” His eyes flicked to Rey. “Put it on me?”

Rising to her knees, Rey leaned forward and took the brooch from Kylo’s outstretched palm. Their fingers touched for hardly a second, and yet the fleeting warmth that passed between them felt as real and as solid as an oak branch. She met his eyes. He inhaled, slow and steady, as she braced herself against his shoulder. With clumsy fingers, she tried to attach the brooch. The backing slipped, lodging into her skin.

“Ouch!” she yelped. A drop of blood welled where the tip punctured her flesh. Unthinking, she brought it to her mouth, sucking away the sting.

A low, needy sound escaped Kylo’s lips. Without even being aware of his actions, he grasped her hand and brought her finger to his lips. Pressed a kiss to the heated skin. His belly clenched and his throat caught as he closed his eyes at the intimate contact. When he opened them, a look of such desire flooded his face that Rey swore she’d be burned alive.

“Better?” he murmured.

Entranced, Rey nodded.

“Thank you. For the gift. For your kindness. For…”

“It was nothing,” Rey whispered.

Kylo’s eyes gleamed. “It was everything.”

***

Weeks passed before Kylo returned to town. With the deer’s bounty and Rey’s clever use of their provisions, he’d had no need to show his face in that loathsome square. A spectre, he remained content to haunt the woods, to hunt game and gather in the forest. Yet the tender moment in front of the fire had compelled him to bundle himself in his long black cloak and ride Upsilon into the square. His proud horse had reared at the sight of his wretched mask. It had been so long since Kylo had last worn it, he’d almost forgotten how it felt. Enclosed. Imprisoned. Still, he would bear it. He’d attached the falcon to his breast with careful fingers, the luster restored to the aging silver with the help of a rag and some patience.

As he tied Upsilon to a nearby post, he heard them. Faint. Sinister. Ever the same. Whispers. Townspeople, huddled in pairs, watching him as walked toward San Tekka’s shop. He scowled in their direction. Chastened, they took flight, vultures dispersing at danger’s first sign.

All except one, hidden in shadow.

Entering San Tekka’s shop, Kylo regarded the old proprietor sitting near the fire. The ancient man rose on unsteady feet, worry’s path etched across his grizzled face.

“Look how old you’ve become,” Kylo sneered.

“Something far worse has happened to you,” San Tekka replied. He beheld Ren’s mask as though he regarded death itself. Grief mixed with horror; a great and terrible burden that swallowed the light from the room.

It had been years since Kylo had seen him, long before the fire burned his legacy to the ground. They had been friends once, back when he still clung to his mother’s dress and his father had worn the brooch. San Tekka would come bearing simple gifts for the eager child; spices and sweets from the far-off realms he had visited. Rare oils. Sparkling trinkets. Fabric that shimmered and flowed like water. He’d been a priest back then, a guardian of faith and purveyor of truth. As the hissing snake of Snoke’s influence had slithered into the Order, San Tekka’s grip on virtue had faltered. He’d succumbed by omission, content to do nothing as one by one the neighboring communities fell. After the fire, he’d disappeared. When Ren was brought to trial, it was San Tekka’s face he’d seen in the jury box.

“You know what I’ve come for,” Kylo said. His distorted voice betrayed no emotion.

“I know where you come from,” San Tekka replied. “But the years of knowing what you seek and who you’ve become have long since faded. What brings you here, Kylo Ren?”

Ren gazed around the room. So much had changed in the years since they’d parted, and so much remained untouched by time. His Bible. His maps to the Old World. His walking stick, worn and polished with age. The few remaining treasures from a life spent traveling.

Ren walked to a sturdy shelf bracketed in the corner of the room. Rigidly, he surveyed the bottles lined in neat little rows. Soldiers awaiting service, dusty with age and neglect. _There_ . He seized a tiny green bottle from the very back row, clutching it in his leather-clad palm. Memory’s force nearly felled him. _Still the same._ The same weight, the same shape; despite the changes in his body, his hands. Most of all, it smelled the same, sweet and beguiling, like stepping through a portal in time.

_“Be careful, son,” his mother said, fondly stroking fingers through his hair. “Use only a little. Simple pleasures must be savored.”_

_The young boy tipped the bottle into his hand, wide-eyed and grinning as the oil trickled into his palms. It smelled like her. Like home._

He clenched his fist around the bottle. “How much?”

San Tekka arched an eyebrow. “So fragrant, that oil. Feminine. Tell me, Kylo Ren, what need have you of such an expensive indulgence?”

Kylo breathed, slow and steady, refusing the bait. “How much?” he repeated.

San Tekka frowned, regarding Ren with steadfast eyes. He stared at the tiny bottle of rare Spanish oil. He recalled the look on a young boy’s face, the fondness in his mother’s gaze. The grief that lanced through him like a sword’s blade when he learned of her death; story’s ending ever left unwritten. She had treated him like royalty. He failed her like a knave. His shoulders slumped.

“Take it,” he murmured. “It will begin to make things right. I've traveled too far and seen too much to ignore the despair in this world. Go in peace, Brother Ren.”

Stunned, Kylo cocked his head. So many words danced on his tongue, yet none fell. Ghosts better left unacknowledged, echoes of the past doomed to sing their mournful song for all eternity. At last, he offered a curt nod and tucked the bottle in his cloak. He hurried out of the shop and back to Upsilon. Swinging into the saddle, he prompted the horse into a quick gallop. He didn’t look back.

Inside his mask, his breath came loud and labored. He never heard the echoing hoofbeats in the distance from the man who followed behind. Instead, he drove Upsilon hard. The wind funneled through the mask’s narrow opening as he urged the horse ever-faster. He raced homeward, eager to put distance between himself and the spectre of town.

When at last his cottage appeared in the distance, Kylo relaxed. His shoulders eased, the band of tension loosening as he approached. With a sigh, he removed the mask, drinking in a deep draught of cold air. Easing Upsilon into a trot, he led him around to the stable. Wiping down the sweating beast, Kylo gently patted his flank, allowing the animal to nuzzle at his chest. He placed the mask on the ground where it belonged and headed toward his house.

As he approached his doorway, Kylo paused. The light was on in Rey’s kitchen. He could see her silhouette in the window, her head bowed over the sink as she scrubbed the dishes.

He fingered the bottle in his pocket. Hesitated. Stroked the falcon pinned to his cloak.

Sighing, he headed back up the drive, drawn to the light in the distance.

From beyond the treeline, Hux emerged. In silence, he followed Ren through the shadows. He fumed as Ren walked to Rey’s doorstep, face in full view of anyone who would pass by, let alone a woman. When Rey opened the door, Hux’s eyes bulged. She greeted Ren with kindness. With excitement. Invited him in as a friend, not a stranger.

Livid, Hux backed away, disappearing down the drive on soundless feet.

Mr. Snoke would be most interested to hear of this _development._

Inside the house, Rey offered Kylo a cup of tea, wiping her chapped hands on her dress. “Forgive me,” she mumbled, fidgeting as he stared at her ravaged fingers. “They’re not in the best condition.”

Spiderwebs of painful cracks marred the reddened flesh. Kylo ached just to look at them. He cradled her hands in his; turned them over, palms up, tracing the whorls and lines that decorated her skin. Her fingers were raw and red; the skin split at the base of her thumbs. Heat radiated; the unhealthy glow of overuse, burn-bright and just as angry.

“Oh, Rey,” he sighed.

She flushed. “It happens, in winter. Not much you can do.” She tried to tug her hands away but he held fast, meeting her eyes.

“Christmas comes early,” he said quietly. From his pocket, he withdrew the small bottle. Rey’s eyes widened.

“Olive oil,” he murmured. “From Spain. Scented with lavender, from France.” He paused, sadness clouding his eyes. “My mother used to use it, when I was very young. It will...heal your skin. Ease your discomfort.” Biting his lips, he looked away. He felt Rey take the bottle from his hand. A moment later, the warm, floral scent of lavender flooded his nostrils. _Oh..._

Rey rubbed her hands back and forth, sighing as winter’s harsh burn faded. With careful fingers, she reached up and turned Ren’s face toward hers, forcing him to meet her eyes.

“Kylo, thank you–”

“–it was nothing,” he whispered. Leaning down, he pressed his forehead to hers. For a moment, he just breathed. The sweet scent of lavender. The earthy scent of smoke. And underneath it all, in the very terroir of the tiny little house, the scent of Rey herself.

Rey’s pulse pounded as she watched him breathe. His dark eyelashes, thick and full. His lips, slightly parted. His cheeks, flushed from the cold. Heart in her throat, she tipped her face up, pressing the barest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

***

In a library across town, two men plotted in shadows.

“Our strategy must now change,” Snoke said, voice grim.

Outside, a wolf howled.


	5. January 1693

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting an extra week for this chapter! I moved across the state to start a new job last week, so things have been uncharacteristically hectic. 
> 
> I've teased for four chapters that winter is coming to Skywalker, Massachusetts. Here, it finally arrives. *gulp*

_**January 1693** _

Winter screamed into the open mouth of Massachusetts Bay. Fierce winds battered Rey’s cottage, cold drafts snaking underneath the floorboards and slithering through the gaps in the masonry. She hadn’t seen Kylo for days. A torrential blizzard had crippled the Order with nearly two feet of snow. Fluffy drifts nearly as high as her waist banked against the side of the cottage. She’d thanked her lucky stars for the hundredth time that Kylo had insisted on adding extra salt-pork to her larder, extra flour, extra oats.

As a knock came on her door, the first contact she’d had with another human all week, she reminded herself to thank Kylo for his kindness. Perhaps she’d invite him to dinner, she thought. She shoved open the door, pushing the snow aside.

“Miss Rey.”

Governor Hux stood on her doorstep, his shoulders squared below his imposing black hat. His face betrayed no clue to the nature of his unexpected visit.

“Gov...Governor Hux,” Rey stammered. The tall man appraised her, eyes slinking over her body, lingering on her hands. Reflexively, she hid them behind her back. _Could he smell the lavender? Did he suspect?_

“My lady.” His face was grave. “It is with deepest sympathy that I regret to inform you the good ship _Resistance…”_

She no longer heard his voice. Her eyes locked on the tattered cloak clutched in Hux’s narrow fingers. Familiar. One-of-a-kind. Embroidered with the Dameron family crest.

Rey screamed.

Hux’s eyes blazed with triumph though he masked them in sympathy’s guise. “There, there, my lady. There was naught we could do. They found the ship’s wreckage off the coast of Hosnia…”

“No,” Rey moaned, repeating it until it bled into a single, heart-wrenching sound.

_Nonononono._

Hux’s hand fell to her shoulder, squeezing uncomfortably tight. “God rest their souls.” He paused. His eyes flashed. “Worry not. The Order will assume care of the Dameron estate. You need not fear–”

Rey’s head snapped up, heart suffused with sudden and fearsome clarity. “You will _not_ assume care of _anything_ ,” she growled. “It is not yours to give.”

“Absent a will–”

“I own the deed,” she yelled. Her face grew splotchy as she railed. “You filthy vulture! You shall not take it!”

Hux glowered. A cold, cruel smirk twisted his narrow mouth. “Miss Rey, are you feeling well? This temperament, this outburst...it is so unlike you. It is almost as if you’ve been...possessed.” Leaning down, he allowed his acrid, heated breath to waft over her exposed neck. “You will give me the deed, girl, or I shall see you on trial for your dealings with Ren. You’ll burn for witchcraft with no one to mourn you.”

Rey paled, a pained gasp falling from her lips.

Drawing himself to his full height, Hux straightened his hat, a placid smile on his face. “You will deliver the deed in thirty days, Miss Rey. Have a most pleasant day. So very sorry for your loss.”

He turned and headed back down the lane. Chancing a look at the adjoining property, Hux’s chest swelled with grim satisfaction.

There, in his doorway, witness to every detail, stood Kylo Ren.

Wrapped around his wrist was a thin leather belt.

***

Rey could not be sure how long she remained crumpled on her kitchen floor. _Gone. Gone. Gone._ Her family. Mr. Dameron’s home. Her relationship with Ren.

_Hux knew._

She turned the words over and over in her head like a river stone, worrying them at the edges until they ceased to have meaning.

_Hux knew._

Of course he knew.

She’d been warned. She persisted. And now she would suffer. She’d heard tales as she’d traveled through town, rumblings of witchcraft. Innocent women put on trial, convicted without cause or apology. Burned alive, their screams haunted the square.

_It is almost as if you’ve been...possessed. You’ll burn for witchcraft and with no one to mourn you._

Rey wailed, hands covering her mouth. Lavender assaulted her nostrils. Once so comforting, tied to a precious, tender memory, now it filled her heart with dread. Sobbing, she rushed to the sink, plunging her hands in the basin of water. Frantically, she scrubbed, raking at her skin with a thin piece of wire mesh, crying so hard she could barely speak until it was ripped, suddenly, from her grasp. Kylo’s chest, solid and strong, pressed against her back.

“No,” he murmured, voice low and pained, as he embraced her in his solid arms, “no, my sweet shadow. Stop. Stop.”

“He knows,” Rey cried, her panicked eyes wild and wet, “Kylo, he **_knows._ ** ”

Kylo hung his head. Brought his hand to guide her against his chest. Rocked her back and forth, slowly, over and over. Her body curled to his, disparate pieces of a complex puzzle that had no solution. What he would have given to feel her comely form against his under different circumstances! Yet, ever-pathetic, he’d take what he could. Even if his weary soul screamed for more. For _everything_. Sighing, he brushed a chaste kiss against the crown of her head, lips tracing the starched white fabric of her cap. “Worry not. It will pass. I will deal with Hux.”

With every atom of her battered heart, Rey wanted to believe. Yet time and experience had siphoned her hope, leaving her hollow; a ragdoll left to ruin. How foolish she was to think things would work out. That her family would return. That she’d escape unpunished for her bargain with Ren.

Slowly, she pulled away.

“We cannot continue,” she said. Her voice was flat. Eerily calm. “I appreciate your assistance, Kylo, but I will put neither of us at risk.”

Kylo tightened his arms. “Rey…”

“Hux has a particular fascination with you. It exceeds standard curiosity; the duty of justice. Why is that, Kylo Ren?” she asked. For the first time in ages, she used his full name.

Kylo glared. “I’ve told you his ambitions are dangerous. What more can I say?”

Rey moved to the window, her chest rising and falling as she surveyed the treeline. In the distance, she could see Kylo’s house. She pictured it in her mind’s eye. His kitchen, where they’d spent many happy mornings. His stable, where Beebee had once come to find a friend in Upsilon. His hearth, where she’d tended his back. Where he’d caressed her hands. Where she’d stolen a kiss. Memories, fleeting and cruel, so at odds with the monstrous picture the town had painted. Which was correct? Could she trust either? At length, she finally spoke.

“Your wife,” she whispered, soft and frail as a dove’s wing, “she died?”

Kylo flinched, eyes slamming shut. “She did.”

Silence stretched between them like a gossamer veil, fragile and trembling.

“Her...death. Did you”–

“–No,” Kylo said, eyes blazing with indignation. “Rey, you cannot, you _must_ not think–”

She turned to him, face ghostly pale, drawn, as if every word she spoke drew the very pulse of life from her chest. “What would you have me believe, Kylo? When you’ve history with Hux? When you do not speak her name? When I hear your tortured cries in the bedroom, see the pain you inflict upon yourself born of guilt…”

Kylo crossed the room in three long strides, stopping mere inches from where Rey stood. With his dark cloak and raven hair, he appeared as a great and terrible demon, a fury that would strike her down with nary a thought or a regret. “Born of you, Rey,” he bellowed, “These thoughts, these urges, this unyielding torment; they’re born of YOU!”

Rey cowered. Kylo’s eyes filled with anguish, fury’s fire suddenly extinguished.

“I’m...I’m sorry,” he whispered. He bit his lip, hand raised as if to touch her but not daring to do so. “Don’t be afraid, my sweet shadow.” His luminous eyes drifted over the rise of her chest, the curve of her waist, with all the fevered need of a man who spent life starving. “Please...I…” he faltered, stumbling over his words as he grasped her hands. They were cool in his palms, skin-to-skin contact unbearably sweet. In one swift movement, he brought her flush against his chest, swallowing a groan at the heady press of her body against his. “Do you truly not know?” he whispered. “Can you not feel?” Sick with desire, he flushed with shame as his cock swelled at the warm, ripe feel of her body even as she trembled with grief.

Through the thin fabric of her dress, Rey felt his muscular form, the solid strength of his well-defined core. The outline of his arousal straining against her hip. She blushed, a deep crimson glow kissing her cheeks, streaking her neck.

“You...desire me?” she murmured, wide-eyed. Disbelieving.

Kylo bowed his head, dark tendrils of hair falling over his cheeks. A shudder wracked his frame. “ _Yes_ ,” he choked. His mouth opened, lips brushing faintly over hers as he strained to taste her kiss.

Lust, swift and terrible, flooded Rey’s head. Through parted lips, she sipped his breath, tasted lingering smoke from the roaring fire in the silky strands of his hair, the sweet-sharp scent of sweat from a day’s hard labor. Every inch, every blessed cell of this powerful man called to her in a language bereft of words. Her body ached for him, her breasts heavy and swollen, her fingertips tingling with the urge to caress. To claim. And yet…

“You never touched her,” she said, quietly. Her shoulders fell. The truth, cruel and unvarnished, doused her desire with brumal reality. “She ached for you and you never touched her.”

 _What will become of me_ , _if I crave you only to be denied? Will I fall to the same destruction?_

With trembling fingers, Kylo cradled Rey’s chin. Tipping her face toward his open mouth, he brushed a thumb, calloused and rough, over the petal-soft swell of her lips. “She wasn’t you,” he confessed, voice a bare whisper. “For you, my body aches. My soul yearns. I think of nothing else. I want to touch you so badly. In all the places you deserve to be touched. Soothed.” A desperate entreaty, soft words so beseeching. “Let me, sweet shadow. Please, let me.”

Rey closed her eyes. Drew a breath. Listened to the pounding of her frantic, traitorous heart.

“I cannot, Kylo,” she said. Her eyes shimmered; hollow and broken. “I will not suffer her same fate. I cannot continue this way. Our bargain is void. Do not return.”

Before he could protest, she turned her back and ran down the hall, slamming the door to her bedroom.

From the safety of her chilly bed, she heard Kylo’s screams, the cacophony of furniture being thrown against walls. Tears slipped blindly down her face until grief’s heavy sleep claimed her.

***

In the morning Rey woke alone. Lacy webs of frost decorated her windowpane. The fire had died down, leaving embers in its wake. Rey shivered as her bare feet met the floor.

As she came to the kitchen, she looked out the window toward Kylo’s cottage. She could see him carving lumber beyond the treeline, his bare, broad back glittering with sweat as he brought the heavy axe down. Fresh lines of scarlet marred the pale white skin of his spine. Rey’s heart lurched.

Before she could stop herself, she was out the door, feet alighting on the frozen grass as she ran to where he worked.

“Kylo, stop! It’s freezing out here! You’ll catch your death if you’re not careful!”

The look in his eyes when he faced her was colder than winter’s worst wind.

“Perhaps that would be for the best, shadow. At least my suffering would end. If you do not want me, release me. I want to be free of this pain.” He shifted his weight, hoisted the axe with his powerful arms, and brought it down on the wood.

Rey recoiled at the buckshot crack of impact. Kylo raised the axe again, dismissing her as though she’d spoken not a word. She watched as he continued to split the lumber, strike after brutal strike as she stood there, shivering, in the cold. At last, she could stand it no longer.

“Stop!” she cried, shaking his shoulders. He flinched but did not look up. “Please, stop.” Tears welled in her eyes. She did not trust her voice to remain steady. “You know it is for the best, Kylo. We shall never be wed and we cannot–”

“You speak as though it’s something detestable,” he said, gripping the axe with chokehold strength. He turned. “Is it truly so wretched to think of me that way, to imagine me surging inside of you–”

Rey gasped.

“–my mouth sealed to yours, my fingers between your thighs, your breasts against my chest as we pant and kiss and moan. I could teach you, Rey. Show you. Is it so wrong–”

“Kylo...”

“–when I love you so much?”

The axe fell to the ground.

Time ceased to spin, the world’s axis tipped askance as they regarded each other. Kylo’s words hung heavy in the space stretched between them.

Hands twitching, breath coming fast and shallow, Kylo looked at Rey. “Say something,” he pleaded.

Rey’s eyes closed. “You cannot mean that.”

“I do,” Kylo swore. “I swear to all the stars in the heavens, I do.”

Rey’s face fell. Her eyes lost their light by degrees.

“You settle for scraps, Kylo Ren,” she whispered.

“You are worth far more,” he replied.

A sad, frail smile ghosted over Rey’s lips. “I fear you are mistaken. Please, don’t trouble yourself with fruitless thoughts of love. That path leads to darkness, for you and for me.”

***

The following morning, Rey went to the stable where Beebee once lived. Near the corner, she crouched to the ground. Pulling away an old board from the dusty floor, she withdrew a lacquered wooden box from a hollow in the earth. There, carefully concealed in a faded leather pouch, was the deed to Mr. Dameron’s house.

Rey cried a long time. For herself. For Kylo. For Mr. Dameron and Finn and her parents and the hope she’d finally abandoned. But there was no other way. Her die was cast with the sailing of the _Resistance,_ with the first fateful day she’d seen Kylo in the square. Wiping her face, she slipped the pouch in her pocket. She’d deliver the deed to Hux today.

As she walked, the sky grew dark and threatening, the sun eclipsed by ominous shadows. She tasted snow on the breeze; the air absent of birdsong. Grimacing at the sky, she decided on a shortcut. The route through the forest traversed rougher terrain, but the path was faster and had been cleared adequately. Sighing, she ventured into the brush.

The trees grew thickest near the water, gnarled branches reaching ever-upward to a sky shrouded by leaves. The canopy’s dense cover obscured the daylight even in high summer, lending an air of foreboding to anyone who passed through its gates. In winter, the light faded to grey, a near-constant state of twilight that prompted unease.

Gripping her cloak more firmly around her shoulders, Rey quickened her pace. It wasn’t far to the clearing that would lead her toward town and yet the distance seemed insurmountable in evening’s moody half-light. As she passed the sprawling blackberry thickets, she heard it.

A scream.

Agonized. Unfettered. Male.

_Kylo._

Rey froze, listening as the sounds of the forest seemed to come alive, to surround her at every turn.

“Kylo?” she called.

The scream came again.

Rey began to run. Blindly, she crashed through the forest, following the stream’s path that ran parallel to the bay. Heart in her throat, she heard him yell again, voice broken this time, as though his very vocal cords oozed blood. She was closer now, close enough to call his name in terror, to plunge through the brush where she thought she’d tracked his voice.

_Oh, God. Had he confronted Hux? Please spare him, Lord. Please._

In an egress a hundred yards ahead, Kylo Ren bit down on his flushed lower lip, sweat dripping into his eyes as he panted with agony. With swift and brutal efficiency, he brought a thin black belt down and over his shoulder, connecting with his spine in a starburst of pain.

As he screamed, Rey burst into view, face flushed, chest heaving with terror. Swiftly, it faded to confusion. Horrified comprehension. Unspeakable sadness.

 **_No._ ** _Dear God, Kylo. What have you done?_

Her eyes widened, her face ashen as she took in the blood, the gashes, the wicked length of leather wrapped around his fist. Dread, icy-cold and pervasive, dropped like a stone in her belly.

 _This unending torment,_ he had cried, _it’s born of_ **_you_ ** _._

“Kylo,” her voice shook, “what are you doing?”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t do anything other than gape at Rey’s trembling form. Then, his eyes hardened. Darkened. Threatened to crack. His mouth pressed in a thin, tight line. His teeth gritted into a smile’s farce.

“So you’ve found me, sweet shadow,” he sneered. From his curled lip, the endearment sprung forth twisted and warped; a ruthless parody of something so dear. “Come to bestow more pity upon the gruesome masked creature? Tell me, do you like what you see? Does it fill your heart to offer such _kindness_ to someone so wretchedly weak? Does it ease your night’s sleep?”

One after another, his words met their target, brutal and relentlessly cruel. Their bargain. Their secrets. Her troubled nights. His pathetic need. Tears filled Rey’s eyes, but Kylo would not be moved.

“Perhaps you’ll report your findings to our esteemed Governor–I’m quite certain he’d be very interested in any _bargain_ you have to offer.”

Rey flinched, disgust blooming at his intimation. Every cherished moment, every sheltered, treasured memory she had made with this complex, fractured man, he set ablaze.

“Come now, shadow, surely you have something to say? Some opinion to offer? After all, you do so _relish_ speaking your mind.”

The first tears slipped onto Rey’s cheeks.

Something in Kylo’s voice quivered. Still, he continued his assault. “Perhaps that’s why your family left in the first place? So they could get some God-damned peace and quiet! Maybe they’re better off–”

His words were silenced by the sickening crack of Rey’s hand to his face. Gasping, she drew back, hands to her mouth, tears flowing freely as she trembled, caught in his words’ vicious trap.

“You’re a monster,” she whispered, hollowed eyes round and frightened, face as white as her pert cotton cap. “I trusted you. I…”

 _Loved you,_ a voice inside screamed. The realization burned her from the inside out, a flashfire of futile desire. _Too little, too late_. Doomed to failure. A curse, as real and impenetrable as one cast by witches.

Rey began to sob.

Kylo’s heart cracked.

Rey fled the forest, stumbling over roots and branches, outstretched hands braced against nature’s unyielding defense. Snow began to pour from the sky; great white flakes that obscured her vision, clouding the path to her cottage as tears froze to her chapped cheeks.

Kylo’s voice cried out behind her, desperate, panicked. She could hear him running, powerful strides that ate up the distance between them in short order. At last he was on her heels, his massive form crowding her until he closed his strong arms around her waist.

“Stop,” he begged, words reedy and wet, “Please, _please_ , stop. I can’t bear it. I can’t…”

“Leave me alone! Let me go! Monster! MONSTER!” Rey screamed in a voice that could wake the dead, her arms and legs flailing as she struggled against his unyielding grip.

“Shhhhhh, shadow, shhhhh...please...please...calm down. Be still. Be still. Be still.” Again and again Kylo murmured, mindless entreaties meant to calm, to soothe. Closing his eyes against the suffering he’d wrought, he buried his face in the crisp cotton of her cap, his fingers tracing circles on the folds of her dress. Slowly, the fight drained out of her, sadness swelling in its wake.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, dropping kisses to the crown of her head, the bend of her shoulder, affection so instinctive he barely registered his actions. “so sorry, shadow…”

“Don’t call me that,” she wept. Deep, heaving sobs wracked her frame. Her torso bent double in Kylo’s embrace, a willow bowed by water’s weight. “Leave me, just leave me. Like everyone...like…”

Misery lanced Kylo’s heart. With each stilted cry, his pain amplified, expanded, a nexus of suffering that knew no boundary, no limit. He deserved it. He deserved every single one of her tears. And yet...selfish, indulgent, so pathetically _hopeful_ , he sought to quell her cries.

“No, shadow,” he breathed, ignoring her protests, her rejection of an endearment that once tasted so sweet on his lips, “I won’t leave you. Promise. I promise. Don’t cry. Please, don’t cry...”

Rey sagged in his arms, exhaustion arriving swift and heavy as she cried herself empty. Carefully, he guided her to the ground, settling them against an aging oak tree. Cold, damp earth seeped through their clothes, as if the very ground wept for them.

In the waning sea of consciousness, Rey looked Kylo in the eyes. “What a waste it was, to love you,” she whispered.

Above them, a crow cawed, circling with interest at the scene. The large, imposing man, face frozen in a rictus of agony, a soundless scream escaping his lips. The sleeping woman, wrapped in his arms, glittering tears decorating her flushed cheeks. The residual heartbreak on her face. The piteous torment on his. The tender way he turned, lips moving with reverence, and brushed a tendril of hair from her face. The careful way he positioned her, lifted her, cradled her in his arms.

The long, slow march to his house.

Wings aloft, the bird took flight, a secret witness that told no tales.

***

With a start, Rey awoke in darkness, disoriented at lying in an unfamiliar bed. Tensing, she gripped the heavy goose down tucked around her waist.

She knew this place. Recognized it even if she didn’t claim it as her own.

_Kylo. The forest. The belt. The screams._

Rey shuddered at the relentless memories, the echoes of his voice warped with cruelty, the vacant anger in his blazing eyes.

Lowering her feet over the side of the bed, she paused, conscious of every sound she made. Determined to escape without a trace. She could climb out the window without much difficulty; it was not far to her cottage, she could be home in…

“Rey.”

Kylo appeared in the doorway, face drawn, shoulders slumped. In his hand, he held a battered candleabra, the pale light accenting the shadowed bags under his eyes, the morose downturn of his plush lips.

“Did you sleep well?” he said, voice a bare whisper. He took a step forward and hesitated, lips quivering as he watched her shift in bed.

“Sleep? That’s your concern?” Rey snapped. Shoving the covers away, she stood quickly but weaved on her feet. Kylo’s arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her.

“Please, shad–Rey. Please, just sit for a moment. No harm will come to you, I promise.”

The pleading, naked supplication in his voice twisted Rey’s heart, wrung it out beyond the point of endurance. He was nothing like the Kylo she knew, yet nothing like the monstrous man she’d encountered in the forest.

“I was never afraid of you hurting me, Kylo,” she whispered. “I fear what you do to yourself.”

Kylo stiffened, drawing in a swift and unsteady breath. His arms did not loosen their grip on her waist. Gently, he led her back to the bed.

“I...I can explain, Rey. Should you listen, I will tell you what you need to know.”

“Such an explanation is unnecessary,” Rey cut him off. Emptiness colored her tone, bathing her words in grey. “Guilt takes many forms.”

“But–”

“You need not reveal what lurks in your past that makes you punish yourself so. But I grow weary of gathering your broken pieces, of caring for your battered body.”

In a low voice, Kylo whispered, “you needn’t care for me. Not if…”

Rey whirled to face him, gripping his wrist with surprising strength, “you daft man! That is not what I said! You twist words so carelessly! I _care_ for you, Kylo Ren. Even now. But I will not enable your suffering.”

Silence held the room in thrall as they regarded each other. Neither dared to speak, too frightened to shatter the spell, to speak the final word that might cast their fragile truce to ruin.

At last, Kylo spoke. “I will stop, if you wish it.” His fingers traced the edges of the blanket but he did not look up. “If you’ll continue our bargain. I could not bear to not see you again.”

Rey sighed. Taking his hand in hers, she brushed her thumb over his palm, tracing a soothing rhythm that drew goosebumps over his skin. “Nor I,” she murmured. It was the truth. She had grown far too attached, risk be damned. “At least, on that, we are agreed.”

With aching uncertainty, Kylo spoke again, voice smaller than she’d ever heard it, a ghost of a boy long ago. “You said it was a waste to love me. Does that mean you do not?”

Rey sighed. Pulling at an errant thread on the bedspread, she regarded him with luckless, guarded affection. She would answer with painful, unvarnished honesty, even if it broke her own heart. “I might have, once. But now…”

“Could you again?” he whispered, looking at her from beneath a thick frame of lashes, his liquid eyes so earnest in the candlelight. Emotions laid bare, he appeared far younger than his years. Afraid. Unsure. And though Rey could not yet give him what he desired most, neither could she stand to deal another blow to his already fragile heart.

“We’ll see,” she whispered. “We’ll see.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: @checktheholonet


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